Precipice
by AnonyMiss J
Summary: To put it briefly: SSHP, dramatic, romantic, sexual and unusual. I hope you enjoy.
1. His Mysterious Manner

Precipice

Chapter 1: His Mysterious Manner

Severus Snape was a complicated, mysterious man. He was both otherworldly in his secrecy and grounding in his somewhat unorthodox teaching methods. He moved with a purposeful and cat-like grace (somehow too slowly yet too swiftly); spoke in serpentine whispers and sonorous vibrations; devoured his surroundings with hard, piercing eyes that possessed the warmth and color of depthless obsidian.

It seemed that, in efforts to soften his harshness, the gods themselves had bestowed upon him the soft black hair that waltzed gently over his shoulder blades and the long, strong, elegant fingers that were so careful in their precision; the tall, almost femininely slim yet capable figure and straight, tapering back.

Or so the sum of his parts was to Harry Potter.

The boy sighed deeply in his chest, lamenting his fate for the umpteenth time. There always seemed to be something wrong in his life, or it just wouldn't be completely his, it seemed.

Not that it was, of course, wrong to be infatuated with Severus Snape, or even with a professor, or even with a man. It was just wrong for him.

And, as usual, there was nothing he could do about it. As with everything else, he would have to go with it, not against it. He would have to seek out the solution to the problem, solve the flaw in the plan, and make the wrong right. That seemed to be his sole purpose in life. He could not fathom actually being happy, though many would point out that he often already was, or seemed very convincingly to be quite often.

If he were to more accurately diagnose the root and cause of his depression, he would realize it to be born of loneliness, alienation, and of course, his fairly abusive childhood history.

The child in him recognized Professor Snape as an ally, as someone who had the capacity to understand him, to protect him. He was strong, and he was smart. The burgeoning adult in him noticed that he was uniquely attractive in a sinister and unusual way. He also possessed an innate darkness that mirrored the same in Harry's own soul, that which he was afraid to explore or to express.

He had carried the burden of his feelings for the professor for a little over a month now. They had simmered and stewed and grown and developed quickly (much like one of Snape's beloved potions). Becoming infatuated with Snape was rather like falling into a precipice for Harry; just as swift, unknown and frightening.

It had happened just after his professor had caught him illicitly viewing his memories in the pensieve. Just after Snape had recognized the pity in his eyes and rejected it. After he had grabbed him by the collar and threw him towards the door, ordering him in his most dangerous tone of voice to 'get out'.

After the door had slammed shut behind him, and he was gulping in fearful breaths to steady himself beyond it, Harry had fallen for his professor. The combination of the sorrow he had felt for the boy Snape had been, the realization of how powerful a wizard he had made himself despite his wretched beginnings, and the scary welling up of his first ever pangs of arousal at having been physically ejected from the room by the much taller and more powerful man, were all too much for him to fully comprehend. He was awed, afraid and overwhelmed.

This must be what love feels like, he had thought.

'It has to be love,' he thought desperately as he watched his professor turn towards him as if in slow motion, his hair fanning out around his back as his robes did the same, those black eyes boring into his wide, hungry ones. Snape leaned forward on his desk, never breaking eye contact with his famous student.

"Mr. Potter!" Snape bit out suddenly, his voice sharp as the crack of a whip.

Harry literally jumped in his seat, wondering why the man felt the need to shout at him like that when he was paying him the most devout of attention.

"It seems you have almost managed to perfect the art of appearing to watch me intently while at the same time not hearing a word I've said. Well done." His voice oozed with sardonic revulsion. The classroom erupted with nervous titters from several of the Gryffindors (not being able to help themselves at so humorous a moment) and snide guffaws from the majority of the Slytherins.

Harry's stomach jolted with excitement. There must be something seriously wrong with him, he thought angrily. Several things, at the very least.

"Enough." Snape effectively silenced the room with the quietly uttered command. His eyes narrowed on Harry once more.

"Detention, seven p.m., with me, Potter." He sneered at the boy one last time and returned to the lesson at hand.

Harry strained to pay attention despite the excruciating thrill of anticipation coursing through his very veins.

Something very wrong, indeed….


	2. Almost Hatred

Precipice

Chapter Two: Almost Hatred

Severus Snape fell gracefully into his seat at the Head Table for dinner that evening, his appetite nearly nonexistent as usual. He sneered at the bounty of courses set before him and the other professors and staff of Hogwarts; it was all too much, in his opinion. What he wouldn't give for a simple bowl of soup followed by a nice green salad, for once in his life at the school. He sighed and poured himself some red wine. He'd be drinking his dinner once again tonight.

Everyone around him—teachers and students both—were conversing happily in between mouthfuls of food, passing condiments and baskets of bread down the tables to one another. Sometimes he would take amusement in selecting a couple of people chatting and furtively read their lips while he pretended to be engrossed in his meal. Tonight, however, he was simply too tired.

He sighed heavily, pressing his eyelids together under tightly drawn brows. He'd forgotten about Potter's detention tonight. Why had he assigned the brat to himself? Why not Filch, who was always happy to force an unfortunate child to slave over cleaning toilets or mopping floors on his behalf? He hadn't been thinking.

He seemed to be making too many mistakes like that lately. All of them minor and inconsequential, but mistakes all the same, and he couldn't afford to err when it counted most. Now he had to bear the brunt of his 'quick thinking' by dealing with the dratted boy for an hour that evening. His eyes found Potter immediately, going on about something with the Granger girl while his constant companion, Weasley, stuffed his face beside him.

Severus' nose quirked in revulsion as he watched the boy smile and laugh with his friends in the midst of a war, which he was destined to save them all from. How could he be so jovial, even for a moment? He couldn't understand someone like that. Someone so self-centered that he thought he could just forget about everyone else's problems and laugh in the face of danger.

'Just like his father.'

He ripped his eyes away from Potter, focusing again on his plate. It appeared as though the small amount of food he had pushed around with his utensils had been somewhat consumed. It was a childish technique, but one that had always worked for him. He hadn't the stomach for concerned inquiries into his health tonight, any more than he did for the food.

He downed his second cup of the wine, reaching out to refill his glass. He grimaced, the acridly bitter taste burning his throat. He didn't drink the stuff for the taste of it, for certain.

'Just one more, and then I shall go,' he promised himself.

He felt a tingling at the back of his skull, a reaction he experienced when someone was watching him and he did not yet know it. He put down his goblet and scanned the room with well-practiced eyes, which a moment later stopped suddenly to rest upon Harry Potter once again. They narrowed coldly, a sneer creasing his face. Potter immediately averted his gaze, his thin cheeks red with embarrassment at having been caught. He must have been positively staring, Severus surmised.

He pushed away his plate and rose from the table purposefully, turning to stride from the room without looking to his colleagues lest they would wish to bid him good night.

He made his way to the dungeons, the air becoming chillier with his descent. He barely noticed the drop in temperature, being well accustomed with the cold and dankness of the lower floors. His mind was focused only on deciding which task to adequately torment the arrogant Harry Potter with tonight.

He didn't hate the boy, he knew, despite the child's many faults and prejudices. Didn't hate him despite his carelessness, stubbornness, and self-centered nature; the list could go on and on. He supposed a child of James Potter couldn't quite help possessing at least half of his awful traits.

All the same, however, Severus Snape didn't hate Harry Potter, but he almost did.


	3. Transference

Precipice

Chapter Three: Transference

Harry raced down to the dungeons after his supper, knowing that he would anger his professor tremendously by being even a few moments late. The thought of Snape's anger made his heart skip a beat. What would the man really do to him if he were given the license to do as he wished? Harry wondered, and suppressed any imaginings that would follow the thought. Now was not the time to become… discombobulated, for lack of a better word. He was determined to impress Snape with his punctuality and self control tonight.

He arrived at the door to his Potions class two minutes before seven o'clock, the appointed time of his detention. He took a moment to catch his breath, smooth his hair (and failed, of course, to tame the unruly mess) and regain his composure. He wanted his professor to see what a diligent, intelligent young man he could be. He wanted Snape to look him in the eye and see Harry Potter, not James. And he wanted him to like what he saw.

He entered the room at about a minute before 7p.m. Snape was bent over his desk, appearing to be engrossed in grading papers. He did not venture so much as a glance towards Harry, which was disappointing to the boy.

"I know you are here, Potter. There is no need to stand gaping like a fish in the doorway. Get inside, boy." He finally flashed a glare at Harry, who colored significantly and quickly found his way to his usual seat in Snape's classroom.

"I do not plan on shouting instructions at you from across the room all night, Potter. Sit here," he motioned to a desk in front of his own. Harry immediately obeyed. He had been so quick to obey Professor Snape that he hadn't been thinking logically. He was frustrated at himself for appearing dim-witted as well as at Snape for being so difficult to please.

Silence descended upon them for approximately five more minutes as Snape finished grading his papers. Harry shifted nervously, waiting for the professor to at least address him. He wasn't sure what he should be doing, and Snape knew it. In fact, the man reveled in his discomfiture. He had wished to finish grading the papers before beginning their detention, but decided not to notify the boy of this fact. He knew that it wasn't right to torture a child so, simply because of who they had been born to, but the chance to punish a miniature replica of James Potter was too delicious to pass up. It mattered not that he'd sworn to protect Lily's son. This child looked nothing like her. One side of his nose wrinkled in a sneer. This was no time to reminisce about Lily, and his ire at having to protect a child who looked like the man who had stolen her from him.

He finished grading the Fourth Year's most recent quiz papers with a flourish of red ink, and stowed them neatly in a top drawer of his desk before deigning to focus on Harry. The boy seemed to have discovered a place of calm within himself, as he was gazing blankly at his hands, which he had folded atop his desk. The jagged parts of his messy black hair revealed downcast green eyes and perfectly relaxed features.

Severus furrowed his brow. He found himself desperately curious as to what the boy was thinking, and it took a small amount of control not to use _Legilimens_ against him. He shook his head minutely. Why on earth should he care what the little brat was thinking? He squared his shoulders and rose to awaken him.

Harry gasped, startling at the brisk rapping of Snape's fingers atop his desk. He hadn't realized he'd been day-dreaming. He had been trying to calm his nerves and to cease his restlessness, so he'd concentrated on seeing his parents in the Mirror of Erised. He figured that as the concentration it required was sufficient to create a _Patronus_, it would do for calming his detention jitters as well.

"Forgive me for interrupting your little mental sojourn, Potter," Snape bit out. "If you feel it is not necessary to pay attention in my class, then perhaps Mr. Filch has something more stimulating for you to do."

"But you were grading papers, you weren't even paying at---" Harry started indignantly, but Snape cut him off by striding menacingly towards him and placing a long, straight finger before his mouth. Harry gulped fearfully, and Snape's eyes glinted, seeming to inhale his dread.

"Do not dare to reproach me in my own classroom, boy. I have saved your wretched, little life more times than you shall likely ever know, and each time I wished that I could just let fate be. I am in no mood for your stubborn defiance tonight, Potter, so don't make me do something the Headmaster shall regret." His nose was inches from Harry's, his voice a dangerous whisper. He had wrapped his thin, white fingers around Harry's desk, which creaked under the surprising strength of his grip. Harry was practically panting now. There was barely a trace of excitement pulsing through his veins; the man was genuinely terrifying, and the prospect of imminent death or maiming was not erotic to Harry.

A drop of sweat ran down his left cheek, but he dared not make a move to wipe it away. For some reason, Snape had frozen in his antagonistic pose before him, refusing to move an inch. Wondering if he wished to force him to sink to the floor, Harry dared to look into his eyes, and then froze, himself. His Professor was unabashedly staring into his own eyes. The look on his face was stricken, horrified, even.

'Is he going to have a heart attack?' Harry wondered nervously.

'Gracious,' Snape breathed mentally. 'Those eyes….'

He was so taken aback that he did not bother to ensure that his Occlumentic walls were strongly raised (as he had been sure to do every moment he was in Potter's presence since the boy had breached his memories in the Penseive). He was fortunate that Harry was not a person to take advantage of such a situation.

It took him several moments to realize that he had lost himself in the eyes of Harry Potter. He blinked harshly and forced himself to turn away, his robes sweeping about his frame and hugging him as if in an effort to calm him. He did his best to still the ragged breaths that racked his lungs and quickened his heartbeat. It had been so long since he'd seen….

But it was only Potter. Damn the boy. And now he had to deal with the brat for the rest of the hour. Time was passing quickly; he'd have to think of something for him to do. He walked as calmly as he could to his desk and took a binder of papers from a drawer. Checking to make sure they were in order, he returned to Potter and dropped the binder unceremoniously atop his desk.

"Third Year quizzes on _Veritaserum_. Grade them," he ordered Harry in a low voice before practically running to his office and shutting the door behind him.

Harry was baffled by the professor's uncharacteristic display of emotion. Well, the closest thing he had seen Snape feel to any emotion aside from anger.

'Do I make him so furious that he can no longer trust himself in a room alone with me?' Harry mused despondently. 'Maybe he's just gone completely bats.'

He sighed and set to grading the papers, pouting mentally over having to waste an hour on pointless busywork without Snape even deigning to share a room with him.

Severus, meanwhile, was slumped over his office desk, head buried in his arms. His eyes were wide open, relishing the complete blackness his sleeves afforded from the world around him. He was not aware of his current surroundings; he was somewhere in his past, reliving memories that he hadn't dared to dwell on for ages. Those eyes made him remember her, made her vivid in his mind again. Her bright red hair, her pale white skin, her soft, feminine voice, her vibrant green eyes….

There she was, as if she had been alive only yesterday. And if he concentrated hard enough, they were together again, the way they used to be, so long ago. He was looking into those eyes again, those beautiful, emerald eyes.

Harry's eyes. Her eyes.

Severus' entire body jolted and he sat up so quickly that his neck cracked. He was shaking with anger, with anxiety. He did not want to remember her, to remember them. To remember himself, the way he once was.

Damn Harry Potter, for having his mother's eyes.


	4. Purity

Precipice

Chapter Four: Purity

"Well, that was a complete disappointment," Harry muttered to himself on the way back to his room in Gryffindor Tower. "What did you expect; that he'd literally open his arms to you?"

Professor Snape had remained locked up in his office for the entire duration of Harry's detention, coming out only to collect the graded essays and to order him out of his classroom.

"Pineapple salad," he enunciated grumpily to the Fat Lady before her portrait swung open to allow him entrance to the Gryffindor Common Room. Among the other students scattered about the room—doing homework, playing games, or simply chatting—were his best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger.

"Oi, Harry." Ron motioned Harry over to take his usual seat in one of several arm chairs clustered in a corner of the room. "So, how'd it go?"

Harry averted his eyes, doing his best to conceal his disappointment from his friends. "Fine," he mumbled.

Ron and Hermione exchanged worried looks as Harry plopped into a chair morosely and seemed to curl into himself, his chin resting on his folded knees.

"…'Fine?'" Hermione repeated. "Harry, are you alright? Did he… hex you?"

"No, no, nothing like that." He attempted a weak smile. "I'm just so tired from all the studying I've had to do recently, not to mention Voldemort's attempted prying."

He knew that last remark was a cheap shot; it would completely take his friends' attention from the true cause of his mood. The Dark Lord had, in fact, not disturbed his thoughts and dreams for a little over a month now. Whether it had to do with his newfound skills (such that they were) in Occlumency or that Voldemort had other concerns on his own mind, he knew not.

"Oh, Harry, has he been frightening you? Has he shown you anything… new?" The concern in Hermione's eyes and her hand on his shoulder made him feel guilty. He gently took her hand from his shoulder and gave it a pat before releasing it.

"Don't worry, Hermione. I'm doing just fine." It was all he could say without making his lie worse.

"If I could, mate, I'd send him a vision of Fudge dancing in his skivvies. That'd show him right good."

Harry could always count on Ron to lighten the mood. He laughed gratefully along with his friends, hoping he was convincing.

Severus shouted something unintelligible, waking himself with a start. He was sitting upright in his bed, holding out his wand in one outstretched arm, his entire body tensed as if ready to pounce. He slowly forced himself to relax and collapsed back on his pillow, letting out a sigh of frustration and fatigue.

He didn't remember the dream that had awoken him, but he made no effort to do so. They were all the same, recycled memories haunting his sleeping mind over and over. There would be no respite from his past, even in sleep, when he managed to fall into it.

He rubbed at his eyes and heaved himself up off his bed. It was just dawn, the early morning light breaking through the window beside his bed that he had created and enchanted to reveal the world outside of the dungeons. He had not bothered to get undressed the night before (he barely remembered throwing off his outer robes and falling atop his bed fully clothed, he had been so drained by his detention with Potter), and did not bother to re-dress himself in fresh robes. He adorned himself in the cloak he had flung onto the cushioned chair adjacent his bed and made his way to the door that attached his rooms to the rest of the dungeons. With a flick of his wand and several whispered incantations, he locked the door behind him and re-warded his rooms.

He felt a rather pressing need to be outside, though he knew not why. He wanted fresh air, to feel the chill of the winter air flushing his skin and the icy cut of the wind to fully alert him to the waking world.

As he emerged from one of the castle's back exits, he was immediately assaulted by the intense white glare of the rising sun. He ducked his head, thankful for the long, heavy black hair which shielded his eyes. A light snow was gently falling upon the grounds, the flakes large and dense. Severus remembered how he had enjoyed the winter months as a child. The cold suited his preference for layers of dark clothing, and he had loved the way the crisp, white expanses of snow would completely obscure his house and neighborhood, transforming his world into one that was neat and clean. He had also enjoyed playing in the snow—building forts and creatures (he refused to construct snow men; they were too easy)—either by himself or with Lily Evans and occasionally her sister Petunia.

A very small, sad smile quirked at the corners of his mouth at the thought of Lily. The two had been such close friends as children. He missed that desperately, perhaps more than he had missed their very brief courtship. He raised his eyes to the sun, as if it's blinding light would obliterate any further thoughts of her. The light became too much for him, and he closed his eyes, but kept his face tilted upwards.

He stood there that way for a long time, concentrating only on the blazing red glare that had imprinted itself on the insides of his eyelids, forgetting his world and everyone who was, and had ever been, in it.

The sight of Professor Snape was breathtaking to Harry, who had frozen dead in his tracks the moment his eyes found him.

After a night of restive sleeplessness, Harry had decided to take in the fresh morning air to rouse him fully before classes began. The school did not serve the children coffee, and he had never been all that fond of it anyway. He had pulled on a jacket, scarf and gloves over his pajamas before embarking outdoors. He had not at all expected Professor Snape to join him, purposefully or not.

He wasn't sure who had arrived outdoors first. He had been shivering and huddling on a rock near the Giant Squid's lake, contemplating the way the fat snowflakes dripped and melded into the water when he saw a shock of black moving against the snow out of the corner of his eye. Upon turning to find his Professor walking slowly towards the lack—albeit in a direction diagonal to where he was sitting—he rushed as swiftly and quietly as he could to hide behind the large rock he had been sitting on, peeking ever so cautiously over the top of it to see if Snape had seen him.

He evidently had not, for he'd continued on in the same leisurely pace closer to the lake, undisturbed by the environment around him. In fact, he seemed to be so involved with his own thoughts that though he likely would have seen Harry on a different day, he appeared not to be able to see the ground beneath his feet, let alone a small teenaged boy some twenty meters away from him.

Snape had stopped walking before he reached the edge of the lake. He stood still for a moment, and then turned towards the sun, which was incidentally located in Harry's direction, which made the boy gulp in trepidation. He threw himself behind the rock again, remaining there several seconds before realizing that he did not hear the movement of billowing robes marching towards him. He peeked back out carefully. Professor Snape was turned towards him, but his face was tilted upwards, eyes closed against the bright morning sun. His arms rested loosely by his sides, his hair and robes ruffled gently by the now quieted wind. He wore no scarf, and his long, bare white neck had been revealed to the elements, its skin gleaming nearly as white as the snow surrounding him. Harry gulped, his stomach tightening as if he were anxious.

Snape was a vision to Harry, pure and peaceful, despite his black attire, or perhaps more so because of it. The way he offered himself to the sun, so trustingly. He was beautiful. It was all Harry could do not to rush over to him, clasp him in his arms and press his lips to that perfect neck. He knew that Snape would likely hex him in a heartbeat, were he to do act upon his desires.

Suddenly, as if he had been shook, Snape's body jolted and immediately tensed and his eyes opened wide and wary. Harry was terrified he had been seen and crouched behind the rock again, praying that he had not been detected. Moments passed by, and when all continued to be silent and still, he ventured a look over the rock again, only to see his Professor's small black outline disappear behind some trees next to the castle.

Harry sighed in relief, but then was struck by a feeling of utter despondency. Perhaps he should have made an effort to talk to the Professor. Perhaps this had been the perfect time and place to do so. Now he would never know. He bit his lip until he was sure there were teeth marks in his skin and rose to hike back up to the castle. Classes would begin shortly, and he had to finish his Transfigurations homework.

He looked down as he walked (as he always did), and found Professor Snape's footprints midway back to the castle. He stopped a moment, staring at them. They were made with a boot that had no traction marks and a vaguely pointed tip. Harry stepped next to one of Snape's carefully, marking his own footprint beside his. The Professor had very large feet. Though, to be fair, Harry was not of average size for a boy his age. He placed his foot in the outline of Snape's. His heart felt warm for a moment. He smiled to himself and continued on to the castle, walking inside his Professor's footprints. He found he had to lengthen his stride quite a bit to keep up with them. They led the way to a door which was attached to a long antechamber within the dungeons that connected it to various halls throughout the castle. Snape had apparently not dusted his boots off before entering it, and Harry was able to keep following in his path down the corridor until he reached the door which connected the dungeons to the central body of Hogwarts.

He had not expected to catch up with Snape just inside the door. As he was opening it to go in, the Professor was opening it from the other side. His eyes met and held Snape's. It took several seconds for Harry to notice that he appeared visibly shaken. He seemed unable to avert his gaze, or even to move. It was as if he was held fast by a force which both compelled and frightened him. Harry imagined that he was contemplating a very severe punishment for him. His hands grew clammy.

"P-Professor Snape?" He finally managed. Something flashed in Snape's eyes, and they turned flinty and cold. It seemed that Harry's voice had reminded him of where he was, which made the boy suddenly wonder fervently where his mind had been. Snape finally broke eye contact with him and flung the door open wider, causing it to knock rather roughly into Harry's shoulder. He ignored Harry's strangled wince of pain and strode swiftly down the hall without so much as a hesitation or a backwards glance.

Tears began to bead in Harry's eyes, and they were not due to physical pain alone.

Severus mentally spewed every curse known to him against Harry Potter. The boy was a constant thorn in his side, a constant reminder of things past that he wished to forget and of things to come that he wished he could escape. So long as he was forced to protect that child, he would never be free of it all.

He continued his rapid pace until he reached his rooms, angrily opening and then flinging the doors closed behind him with a resounding crash. He allowed himself to fall onto his bed, rolling over onto his side and clutching his ribs tightly. He was feeling childish and was not apologetic for it. There would be time for all that later. He closed his eyes.

But he couldn't get away from the memories. As his eyes had met those of Harry Potter's he had instantly remembered what had woken him so rudely that morning. He had dreamt of Lily's death, of discovering her body after she had been so callously slain by his former Dark Lord while her infant son wailed in the background.

A single tear trickled down his cheek and slipped through the left corner of his mouth. He swallowed it, and forced his weary, pained eyes open. He had to pull himself together; classes would begin shortly.


	5. A Fire in the Snow

Precipice

Chapter Five: A Fire in the Snow

Severus raked spindly fingers through his lank black hair. For the life of him, he could not sleep this night. He threw off the thin sheet he'd covered his body with and sat up, swinging his long legs over the side of the bed. He rested his heavy head in his hands, leaning his elbows on sharply-boned knees.

He hadn't gotten a decent night's rest since running into Potter in the dungeons the week previous. Those eyes, those terribly bright eyes of his that so mirrored his mother's haunted him. Whenever he prepared to sleep, thus letting down his guard (as much as he was willing to), he was assaulted by their memory.

Those eyes in James Potter's face were an insult that he could hardly bear. Since the ill-fated encounter where he'd first noticed this travesty, he'd not been able to be in the same room as Potter without feeling the inexplicable and horrifyingly intense desire to grab the boy by his unruly head of hair, drag him to his rooms and make him wish he'd never been born. He hadn't wanted to actually hurt someone for many years, and he was greatly discomfited and confused by the urge to do so now.

He had felt unusually chilly that night, so he'd decided to conjure up a fire in the seldom-used hearth across from his bed. (Even in the dead of winter, Severus Snape welcomed [or, more accurately, failed to notice the cold.) He looked over at the fire, vaguely enjoying the cheerful sound of its crackling and the encompassing warmth it emitted. He crawled down to the end of the bed facing the fire and settled into a cross-legged position so that his body could take full advantage of the heat.

He became entranced as he gazed into the licking flames. He suddenly needed to feel the heat on his bare skin, and removed his plain black shirt, dropping it beside him on the bed. He rose up on his knees and gripped the wooden foot of the bed, arching towards the fire like a cat in the sun.

The light from the red flames made his pale white skin gleam and appear soft and vulnerable, though sections of it were scarred and tattooed and the entire expanse was tightly muscled and lean. The majority of his ribs could be counted by the naked eye, and his clavicles were sharply exposed, but the glow from the fire made him seem healthy and warm.

Despite his enduring ignorance of the fact, Severus Snape was truly beautiful.

Snape's palpably increased loathing of Harry in the week since their unplanned meeting in the dungeons did not escape his notice. The man made an obvious effort to pretend he did not exist, where in the past he had merely ignored or belittled him. Harry would have given his broom for a snide comment from Severus Snape, these days.

It was so late at night that it was very early in the morning, but Harry was staunchly avoiding the urge to sleep. His boyish crush on his Professor had blossomed into an unhealthy obsession, and he had taken to pulling out the Marauder's Map whenever he could find some privacy and watching the man's movements throughout the castle. He knew Snape had not slept much since their ill-fated encounter; he paced his rooms, journeyed to the library, or wandered about the castle at all hours of the night. One night (last Sunday) he had completely disappeared from the Map, meaning he had disapparated from the castle. Harry had been so worried about him (knowing his dangerous status as a spy for Dumbledore) that he hadn't been able to sleep until he saw Snape's name reappear on the Map. He'd not allowed himself a full night's rest since that occurrence, constantly awakening from a sound sleep to assure himself that Snape was still in the castle.

The euphoria that washed over and engulfed his entire body and mind when he had proved his fears to be unfounded was like a drug, an addiction. So Snape had become to him.

This time, he had begun to panic once again as he studied the Map. Severus Snape had not moved a centimeter for at least an hour now, which was very unusual in Harry's experience. Even when he managed to get some sleep (Harry presumed, as the man's name would stay in one spot in an unnamed location in the dungeons), he appeared to move just marginally.

A cold sweat broke out over Harry's body; what if something was wrong with him? What if he was…? But he could not bear to even imagine that possibility.

'What should I do? Should I… should I check on him?' Harry's mind was racing in his fear. 'If it turns out he's ok, he'll murder me, but… I just have to know.'

He flung off his covers, pulled on his Weasley jumper and grabbed the Invisibility Cloak out of the chest at the foot of his bed. Praying that Snape would be alright and that he would somehow return to bed unscathed, Harry donned the cloak and tiptoed out of Gryffindor Tower.


	6. Human Nature

Precipice

Chapter Six: Human Nature

Harry's entire body shook with a mixture of fear and cold as he made his way down to the dungeons. As he finally passed the Potions Classroom, he realized that he had no idea where his Professor's rooms were located, exactly.

'Please, let me have remembered to take it along,' Harry prayed under his breath as he searched his pajama pockets. 'Yes!'

He thanked whatever deities there may be as the fingers of his right hand closed around the familiar rough, worn paper that the Marauder's Map was comprised of. Unfolding it in quick, shaky hands, his eyes scanned the Map desperately for Severus Snape's private rooms (or, where he'd surmised over time they would be, as he had been used to seeing his Professor's name appearing over a specific unnamed area of the dungeons at night).

He swallowed a panicky gulp of dry air as he found Snape's name hovering perfectly still in the exact same location it had been when he'd last seen it in his own room. He studied it's proximity to the Potions Classroom, which was marked on the map, and immediately set off down the hallway towards his goal, following the turns and twists in the darkened hallway as the Map indicated.

He at last reached a large, foreboding, ancient-looking wooden door, complete with somewhat rusted black metal brackets securing it to the wall. He refolded the Map and replaced it in his pocket, hoping he was in the right location. He felt that he had followed the directions correctly, and thus wouldn't have anything to worry about save for the unearthly wrath of his Professor when he found him at his door. How he prayed that he would... the other possibility was unthinkable.

This last thought pushed him to reach out his hand and boldly knock on what he presumed was Snape's door, allowing his Invisibility Cloak to fall from his shoulders and pool around his feet on the floor. He would remember it before he left; it wasn't important right now.

At least a minute passed, in which terror lodged itself in Harry's throat. He was poised to knock again, when the door suddenly creaked open to reveal Severus Snape standing before him. Without a shirt on.

"Harry Potter?" Severus was so disoriented from having been jolted from his blissful reverie before the fire that it took him a few moments to register that Harry Potter was indeed standing before him.

"Potter," he intoned dangerously, his black eyes sharpening with barely concealed fury. "What the devil are you doing here, at 3 o'clock in the morning?"

Harry's gaping mouth faltered in an attempt to speak, but Snape silenced him by continuing on, drawing himself up to his full, imposing height. He seemed to become more livid with each uttered word. If he weren't in such a state of half-dressed dishabille, Harry would have almost thought he was in his classroom being reprimanded.

"More importantly, how did you know where my private rooms were located? What right do you have to disturb the few precious hours of peace I am able to scrape together away from you detestable brats? Is it not enough that I am forced to endure your vile, cursed presence every single day of my professional life, that you feel the need to insinuate yourself into even my private life?"

His eyes were positively glinting, and the unmistakable aura of his power was almost visible. Harry continued to gaze raptly up at him, which made Severus even more furious at Harry's perceived disrespect. Without thinking, he threw the door open the rest of the way and moved closer to the boy so that he could more effectively tower over him. Potter didn't move an inch; Snape was now practically snorting with anger.

"But the answer is perfectly clear! You, Harry Potter, the golden child, the savior of the Wizarding World, can do whatever you wish, whenever you wish, to whomever you wish!" He paused to draw in a breath. His chest rose and fell with his exertions, and he did not notice Harry's eyes following his movements. "You ungrateful, spoiled, selfish, insolent little brat!"

Severus was unable to continue his tirade after that last sentence was uttered, for at that moment Harry took it upon himself to inexplicably and impulsively wrap his arms tightly around Severus's neck and press his lips to the other man's, kissing him fervently. For once in his life, Severus was absolutely speechless.

Harry didn't know what came over him, but he knew he couldn't make himself stop. That coarse black hair, those cruel dark eyes, the pale bare skin... He found himself in a frenzy of unstoppable arousal. He couldn't, for the life of him, understand why he became so excited when his Professor berated him in such a way. He'd never been bold socially, in a relationship or otherwise, but something about his formidable Potions Master made him fearless.

He knew he should just let go and run back to the Tower; Snape was likely frozen with revulsion, which was why he hadn't shook him off just yet. He knew he'd either be dead, maimed, or in detention for the rest of his life when he let him go.

Before he could release him, however, his Professor abruptly came back to life. He grabbed Harry roughly by the shoulders, swung him around and all but threw him against the coarse wooden door, pinning him there with his surprisingly strong body. He kept his hands firmly gripped around Harry's thin biceps and forced his tongue into his mouth, kissing him passionately and hard.

Harry's breath nearly left his body. He couldn't believe that he was being kissed by Severus Snape, and ardently at that. He knew that his lips would bruise from this encounter, but he cared not. He closed his eyes and allowed his Professor to rape his mouth with his tongue.  
He shifted his body more comfortably against the door, relaxing and thus pressing himself closer against Snape, and knew that the older man could feel his arousal on his thigh.

This must have jolted Snape back into reality, for at that moment he violently separated himself from Harry, shoving the boy away from him and into the hallway. He appeared shell-shocked, and stared at Harry with glazed eyes for another second without seeing him before slamming the door in his face.

All Harry could do was stand there, shivering, fighting to catch his breath and trying his best to keep his composure while he attempted to process what had just happened between himself and his Professor. He knew that exhaustion and emotion were getting the best of him, and that he should simply return to his room as quietly and as quickly as he could.

He managed to reenter his room without incident and fell asleep immediately after his head hit the pillow. He spent the following day valiantly attempting to behave normally, all the while dreading that evening's Potions lesson with Professor Snape.

He was so completely unsettled that he'd completely forgotten having left his Invisibility Cloak in the dungeons at Professor Snape's doorstep.


	7. Unforgiving, Unforgotten

Precipice

Chapter 7: Unforgiving, Unforgotten

Severus Snape spent the rest the morning after the unspeakable incident with Harry Potter slumped in his favorite chair, rigid and motionless. He was disgusted with himself, and beyond irate with Potter. He knew that some of the fault for what happened lay with him, but the majority of it was the brat's; he had, after all, instigated the entire thing.

'Throwing himself at me like some love-starved tart…' Severus shuddered in revulsion at the memory. His brow furrowed as he came across a thought he hadn't yet even considered, so in shock had he been. 'But, why me? I have not encouraged him in the slightest; have been nothing more than tolerant of his presence; have given him less than satisfactory marks in my class…. This is a bloody mystery.'

He at last rose to conjure himself a glass of water. He felt sick, and needed to wash the taste of the boy completely from his mouth. Without uttering a word, a simple, medium-sized glass appeared in his hand, filling itself to the brim with water. He downed it in seconds, appreciating the cold, cleansing feel of the liquid. He took several deep breaths, appearing to have calmed himself down somewhat. He glanced over to the charmed window, noticing the sun just rising over the distant hills.

Dawn had come, and he'd barely gotten a wink of sleep. And, thanks to that loathsome brat, he'd likely not do so for quite some time. It was a mystery, indeed, a complete mystery.

"Blast it all, I'm not even homosexual!" he shouted to no one in particular, hurling his glass to the floor.

Harry had told his friends that morning that he was sick, therefore excusing his pallor and tendency towards silence that day. They worried something was going around, and thankfully left him to his own devices for the most part.

He had awoke with the immediate memory of what had transpired hours earlier with Professor Snape, and dreaded having to go through the day's motions with the knowledge that he would likely be Avada Kedavra'd by the time night fell. Unless, by some extraordinarily slight chance (or even a miracle), Snape had forgotten what had happened, or attributed it all to a bad dream. Harry doubted it, but held on to that slim shred of hope all day.

He managed to get through all of his classes without incident or attracting undue attention, but he found himself literally shaking in his robes as he made his way to the Potions classroom that evening. Gulping down bile, he found his seat without so much as glancing in his Professor's direction, and pretended to be studying his textbook while his fellow students seated themselves as well.

"I will have silence in my classroom," Snape growled, causing the students to cease their murmuring at once. Harry blushed at the sound of his voice, venturing a look at the front of the classroom.

Snape tapped the board with his wand, causing that day's potion-making directions to appear in his cramped, antiquated handwriting. He swiveled on his heel to face his students, his eyes immediately locking with Harry's. They narrowed and seemed to glint dangerously as if at the Professor's will before darting abruptly away.

'So he does remember,' Harry thought miserably.

"Today you will be brewing a draught of Dreamless Sleep. As it is fairly addictive and therefore notoriously sought after illegally, I will not let a single one of you out of my sight until I've checked you over at the end of class to make sure you aren't leaving with a single drop…"

As Snape explained the history, uses and properties of the potion, Harry lost himself once again in the movements of his Professor and in the sound of his voice. Despite himself, he began to relive every moment of their kiss, every point of contact Snape's body made with his own, the feel of the other man's smooth, hard flesh. The very smell of him was intoxicating; like the air in the depths of winter, pure and raw.

"Well? Get started!"

Harry managed to complete the potion, and had done a decent job of it as well. However, he'd nearly spilled his entire supply of powdered Asphodel into the cauldron when Snape stopped behind him, making his usual rounds about the class to check on each student's progress mid-way. He caught the bag just in time, frozen in place as he felt Snape literally breathing down the back of his neck. It had seemed he wanted to say something (Harry could verily feel him holding back words), but instead turned and continued on his way. Harry realized he'd not been breathing, and gasped quietly as he sucked in much-needed air.

Snape was true to his word, checking each student with his wand for remnants of the potion as they left his class. Harry did his best to stop his body from shaking as he approached his forbidding Professor. His eyes were trained on his shoes as the other man performed wand movements about his body. He was so close to him, Harry could breathe in his scent once again. His eyes rose slowly to look up at Snape, who, he was surprised to find, was already concentrating on his face. Harry's breath caught in his throat, but Snape appeared grave and perfectly collected.

"Move along, Potter," he bit out quietly, so only Harry could hear him. He nodded minutely and left the room.

'Damn me, I miss him already.'

Severus was relieved as the last student exited his classroom, closing the door behind them. He sighed heavily and fell gracefully into his desk chair, folding his arms and allowing his head to roll back just slightly.

Despite having ruminated on his predicament with Potter throughout the entire day, he was no closer to figuring out why the boy had attempted to seduce him. Nor could he understand why he had kissed him back so enthusiastically in the first place. He'd come to his senses, of course, but there was a moment or two beforehand that he couldn't account for.

He thought that perhaps he'd merely been a bit 'love-starved' himself. After all, he'd been working especially hard lately dividing his time between the Dark Lord and Headmaster Dumbledore, not to mention his responsibilities as a professor. There was simply no time these days for extra-curricular flings, as he seldom engaged in.

Despite the fact that he found Potter in no way, shape or form sexually attractive, he was feeling especially squeamish about recklessly engaging in sexual contact with a student. He had thought himself to be a better man than that. Though, he'd never had one of his pupils assault him in such a manner. It was true that he'd occasionally dealt with their adolescent crushes in the past, but those rare situations were either taken care of or ignored until the student left the school or forgot about him.

Perhaps Potter had caught him at a vulnerable moment? He'd been feeling unusually sensitive lately. Regardless of why what had happened had happened, he needed to know what to do about it. It was obvious that Potter still harbored whatever feelings he'd thrust upon him early that morning; his eyes, body language, even his very aura told him that.

'Why, what, how, indeed! I could think upon this all day and no solution would present itself. I'll simply have to watch my back, and go out of my way to make Potter as miserable as I possibly can,' he decided mentally.

-

In spite of this pronouncement, Severus found himself continuing to mull the matter over as the week wore on. Furious with himself as well as with Potter (who continued to ogle him like a schoolgirl with a crush, despite his increased hostility towards the boy), he resolved to put the matter to an end once and for all. He pulled Potter aside one night after dinner in the Great Hall.

"Potter, come this way." He led the red-faced and disgustingly flabbergasted child to a quiet corner in the hallway and then turned on him with an imposing frown. "Listen closely, boy. I do not know why you chose me to… preoccupy yourself with, but it must end now. We will not discuss what happened earlier this week with each other or anyone else, and the incident will be as if it had never occurred. Am I understood?"

The boy looked positively crestfallen. Severus sneered reflexively.

"B-but Professor, you kissed me back—"

"Silence!" Severus advanced upon him dangerously. He smirked inwardly as the boy cringed in fear. "You do not have a choice in the matter. I do not know why it happened, but it will never happen again. Now, do you understand?"

"Yes, sir. …Professor?"

Seeming to impulsively raise up the courage (to Severus' extreme displeasure) to continue speaking after he'd been dismissed, he looked the Professor in the eye with only a hint of apprehension. Despite Severus' obvious wish for him to remain silent, the boy went on.

"Can we not at least… bury the hatchet? S-so to, so to speak. I-I don't mean be friends, exactly, but I…"

"Get on with it, Potter, I've a class to teach in ten minutes." Severus feared the boy would cause a scene if he did not at least hear him out. He was, after all, a Gryffindor.

"I mean, let's call a truce, forget about all the bad feelings between us over the years. Let's… shake hands on it?"

Severus curled his lip derisively, pushed past Potter's outstretched hand and strode away from him without so much as a backward glance.


	8. Decide

Precipice

Chapter 8: Decide

"I'm n-nothing.… No, worse than that. He can't even b-bring himself to _touch_ me!" Harry choked out between sobs of self-pity and self-loathing. He lay curled up in the fetal position in his bed, shrouded by blankets and rendered silent to the rest of the world by a charm he'd cast.

Tears matted his lashes and slid down his nose and chin, unstoppable in their miserable deluge. He felt as though he'd nothing left, where his Professor was concerned. The man had, without question, rejected him, and he had no choice but to do his best to put his feelings for him away, to attempt to deny them. The very thought of how hard he'd have to try to appear uncaring in front of Snape, let alone everyone else, wracked his small body anew with fresh cries.

Oh, how lonely he was, how piteous.

-----

Severus was slumped comfortably at the teacher's desk in his classroom, idly twirling a quill in his long fingers. His eyes were trained on the object, but they were unseeing, as he was deep in thought.

He realized he was wanting, lacking, of something important. Having been so disgustingly close to the dratted Potter wretch cast his present aloneness in a stark, rather pathetic light. He'd not experienced such intimate proximity to another person in a very long time, and he felt himself wanting of this. Needing of it. He was not interested in forming a long-lasting bond with anyone. No, he'd neither the time nor the patience for such luxuries, nor did he believe himself to be capable of it after Lily….

How he expected to achieve the release of what he now knew was pent-up sexual frustration would not make itself apparent to him. It was too dangerous to visit the whore houses (both for the sake of his tenuous reputation as well as his own personal safety in such treacherous times). Picking up a woman from a pub was out of the question. He told himself it would be too sleazy as he conveniently ignored the fact that he'd no idea what he would say in such a situation. He detested bars, and preferred to drink alone in his rooms, when he lowered himself to drink at all.

The quill cracked suddenly between his knuckles. He cursed Potter for awakening such long-buried yearnings for what others take so for granted! His black eyes glinted stonily, and air puffed angrily through his curled nostrils.

Why was the only one who wanted him in years the only one he could barely contain his fury for? Should he take advantage of the brat (as utterly detestable a notion that was, in more ways than one), leave him be, destroy him? He cared little to none for Harry Potter's personal feelings, whatever his course of action would be. In fact, they had not entered his consideration for one single second, and when he suddenly realized this, he found that he did not care. This newfound knowledge enflamed him with desire, with the possibility of attaining power. A new interlude with an old friend whose company he hadn't indulged in for far too long.

He would have to make a difficult decision very soon.

-----

Harry went about his life, with much more ease than he'd thought himself capable of in the weeks since Snape's rejection. With classes, his friends and keeping on top of the Dark Lord's activities as best he could, he had far too much to concentrate on to be as fully consumed by grief as he'd thought he would be, though the sting of his Professor's rebuff still hurt him greatly. Despite his attempts to quell them, romantic feelings for the older man continued to flourish rather than abate.

Professor Snape ignored him completely; looking through him in his classroom and neglecting even to insult him when his work was less than exemplary, which was an admittedly often occurrence.

Harry found himself craving anything from the man in his desperation for further contact. His abuse would be far better than his ignorance. Harry worried that he wasn't disturbed by such longings, but was calmed only by the fact that he knew his Professor wanted nothing more to do with him. At the least he no longer had to wonder at Snape's feelings, though he longed for him all the same.

One night after Potions, Harry was lagging as he often did so as to be in Snape's presence for as long as possible. The sharp herbal smell of the classroom had become quite calming and pleasant to him.

He was more tired than usual and must have been daydreaming, for when he finally heaved his pack onto his shoulder and looked around for his friends, he found himself to be the only student remaining in the classroom. As he slowly turned his head toward the front of the room, he found his eyes being pulled magnetically to his Professor's, who he found to be entirely focused upon him. The forbidding man was standing perfectly still, with arms crossed. His expression was hard and cold as usual, but he was guarding something behind his eyes that Harry couldn't discern. Perhaps he was angry at him for having stayed so long? How long had he been here?

He gulped and made to leave, but stopped in his tracks as he noticed the door was closed. He turned helplessly confused eyes to Snape, who didn't appear concerned in the least. The Professor began to stride toward Harry, his pace confidently, frighteningly, slow.

Harry felt as though he was to be the victim of a collision, and there was nothing he could do about it. His feet were glued to the floor. It seemed an eternity before the two stood facing each other, a few mere inches separating them. Harry could do little more than tremble where he stood, eyes raised to meet his Professor's, who was over half a foot taller than him. The man wielded his superior height and strength as one would a concealed weapon, made wholly confident by a distinct advantage he knew he possessed. Harry felt his mouth go dry. Despite his worship of Snape, he found himself slightly terrified.

After what seemed to be the most agonizingly long moment of Harry's life, Snape opened his mouth, deigning to speak to him.

-----

"This will be under my complete control, and mine alone. You have no say in this."

His voice was a soft, deep monotone, barely above a whisper. Harry heard his words, but did not understand their meaning. His eyebrows furrowed, and he moved his mouth to question the Professor but abruptly lost his train of thought when Snape reached his long, graceful hands out to Harry's face. He gently removed Harry's glasses and placed them, folded, on a desk beside him.

Without a single word, the older man took Harry's slim shoulders in his rigid, deft fingers and pushed the boy's body back roughly against the desk behind them. He looked Harry dead in the eyes as he pressed his hard lips to the boy's soft, open ones.

In spite of his shock, Harry attempted to hold the Professor's gaze, but his eyes wavered and closed against a torrential wave of passion overtaking his body. His thin, white hands fluttered up to rest over Snape's, who at first stiffened before grudgingly relaxing his grip on the boy, allowing the contact. However, he refused to let the boy's body merge with his; he made sure they kept a distance of at least a couple of inches between them throughout the encounter. He was not yet sure how far he wished to go with him.

Harry was far less experienced than Severus when it came to kissing, and this was quite apparent at first, as he clumsily maneuvered his mouth under the Professor's. But he was a fast learner, and after mastering Snape's rhythm he dared to pass his tongue into the older man's mouth.

Severus was startled by this unexpected move, and bit Harry's tongue without thinking. He tasted hot blood and swallowed, surprised to find the experience not entirely unpleasant. The boy moaned briefly in pain and tried to pull away, but Snape would not allow this, and forced Harry's mouth open again to reclaim the bruised tongue. A surge of lust started in his groin and moved hotly throughout his body. It had been so long since he had been able to possess another person this way.

Harry's blood in his mouth caused him to realize how vulnerable the child was, how entirely his he had become in this moment. He felt powerful, godly, even. Guilty. This was Lily's son, whom he had sworn to protect with his life. If he had not so resembled his father, and hardly at all his mother, Severus was not sure if he could continue. Why he had gone from loathing to craving this boy was beyond him. The change had been as swift as a snap of the fingers.

But he could not stop to think on this now; he was slowly becoming addicted to Harry's pale flesh as he allowed his hands to roam up the boy's long white neck and travel the landscape of his unruly black hair.

Animalistic whimpers emanated from Harry as Severus's lips left his to devour the left side of his neck, not sparing the boy his teeth or his tongue. The bruises he'd leave there would last for at least a month.

Allowing for a brief respite in physical contact, Severus roughly lifted Harry's school robe and yanked it over the boy's head, tossing it carelessly behind him. He eyed Harry briefly, who now wore only a rather raggedy black jumper and too small—too tight—blue jeans.

The student's body was taut and thin, small and wiry, coiled in a nervous spring of fear and lust. He could convince himself that it was androgynous, as the lines of Harry's form were slightly curvaceous and boyishly feminine. Placated for the time being, Severus grabbed the back of Harry's head and used it to pull the boy upwards to unite their hungry mouths once more. He could feel the child straining to reach him on tiptoe, which fueled his passion further.

He sensed a sudden burst of anxiety in Potter before he felt the boy's hands attempt very timidly to lift his own robe. Severus immediately grabbed Harry's wrists in a vice-tight grip and slammed the palms of his hands onto the desk behind them, the sound echoing in the empty room. He forced Harry farther back onto the desktop, allowing him to sit before he relinquished his wrists. He bored his eyes sternly into the boy's until he was sure he'd made an impression, and then slowly resumed kissing him, this time far more gently.

Harry was pleasantly surprised by the sudden change of pace, which was reflected in the bulge straining painfully against the front of his jeans. He had not been aware of it until now, and he gulped without thinking, arousing Severus's fine-tuned senses. The older man separated his mouth from Harry's by several inches, and slowly raked his hooded black eyes down the boy's frame until they came to rest on the object of Harry's mortification.

He froze in that position, eyes locked on Harry's groin, despite his student's nervous shifting. The sight of the boy's contained erection reminded him that Potter was, in fact, a male. He felt his face grow hot, and what had been his own arousal now grew limp with anger and disgust, with himself, with the boy. With the situation he found himself in.

He reeled back from Harry, stabbing his scornful eyes into the boy's small, shaking form. The power of his aura crackled about him, fury lighting up his black eyes and curling his thin lips into an ugly sneer. A wave of satisfaction rippled down his straight spine as his student seemed to shrink into his own body and cowered before him.

"You make me sick." He spat out the words in a vile whisper.

Harry's mouth fell open, his face began to crumple. Severus turned on his heel and strode to the front of the room, ripping open the door angrily and slamming it against its hinges as he all but ran from Harry.

Harry waited a few moments and then let go of all tension. He slid as if boneless down the desk and onto the floor, tears coursing down his pale cheeks in rivulets. He made not a sound as he remained there for a long time, weeping soundlessly, deeply confused and frightened. When he at last managed to pull himself together sufficiently to leave the room, he promised himself that he'd never think of what had just happened again.

Over and over he broke that vow as the events in his Professor's classroom played and replayed themselves behind his eyes like a cursed, broken record.


	9. Truce

Precipice

Chapter 9: Truce

There were books littering the floor, the furniture had been over-turned, and the loose papers had been thrown from the desk. Severus had all but destroyed his sitting room.

He stood in the center of the wreckage with his eyes closed; he was counting backwards from one hundred, an activity which helped to calm him after a rage. He was angry at Harry Potter, he was furious about what they had just engaged in, and he was completely confounded by his swiftly-developing feelings for the boy, which he could neither seem to control or cease. Most of all, he was sorry for the way he'd treated his student.

Severus Snape was not a man that liked to be wrong. Ever. He prided himself on his intelligence, and vast knowledge on innumerable subjects. Though he felt it was perfectly fine to mentally crush a student for impertinence or stupidity, what he had said to Harry was not at all justified. The boy had done nothing more than what he'd incited him to do. This time it was his fault. He sighed, took out his wand and set the room to rights with a few spells.

He was going to have to apologize to Potter. Even thinking that sentence caused his stomach to churn.

-----

Severus allowed two weeks to go by before he mustered up the courage (though he would have vehemently denied this; he thought of it as taking his time) to speak to Potter. The boy seemed to become paler and gaunter with each day that passed, and Severus decided that he could not let this go on any further. He knew what he'd said was cruel, but he'd had no idea it would affect the youth in this way. He did not want to be responsible for his death. That would be Voldemort's responsibility.

He took the second week to very discreetly spy on the boy, trailing him to his classes, getting the gist of his schedule and habits. The following Friday, at a time he knew the boy was expected to study in the library (likely at Granger's behest. He had overheard the boy and her discussing a study schedule she had made up for him and his red-headed, doltish friend during the course of his spying), he decided he'd have an impromptu meeting with him there.

He shadowed Potter as he entered the library and took a seat in a (thankfully) secluded desk in a corner of the massive room, and watched him unobtrusively from behind a row of books until the boy had settled into his reading.

It was true that Harry Potter greatly resembled his father, but there was a sort of lightness about his character, an innocence, that James had never possessed. As if the same body housed a different persona. This unnerved Severus, confused him. He regarded the boy with a furrowed brow, watching his eyes scan the pages of the book he was studying. As Harry turned the page and his eyes rose to begin reading it, Severus caught his breath in his throat. There they were again: Lily's eyes, in James' body. How he hated to see it! It was a travesty. It symbolized his hate and his love in one form, it enflamed him with passion and anger. The eyes were so gentle, so beautiful….

Severus's own eyes shot downwards, to his feet. He took a moment to pull himself together, to remember that he was looking at Harry Potter and no one else, before moving in. The boy failed to notice his approach, which made Severus roll his eyes. 'Typical,' he thought sardonically. He stood before Harry's desk for another moment before clearing his throat, stifling a chuckle when the boy jumped halfway out of his seat. When their eyes met, Severus's stony and hidden, Harry's surprised and wary, Severus quietly took a seat across from him.

"Mr. Potter." His eyes flicked over Harry's when the boy didn't respond.

"P-Professor Snape," Harry began. He gulped visibly, his hands trembling. He looked uncomfortable, as if he were holding in air. "I'm so sorry about—"

Severus held up a firm hand, effectively silencing him.

"Don't," he intoned. "You were not alone in the… transgression. I am your professor; I am responsible for you, and for my own behavior. I…"

Severus had never imaged two little words could ever be so hard to say. Then again, he'd rarely had occasion to utter them. He sighed, pressing his eyelids together.

"I am sorry, Potter." When the boy said nothing, he opened his eyes. Harry was staring at him in disbelief, his eyes circular and his mouth slightly agape. Severus grew irritated, uncomfortable. He felt as though he was losing the upper hand, and he did not like it.

"Is it so hard to believe that I would be sorry for taking sexual advantage of you? Do you think me such a monster?"

"No!" Harry hurried to say, his hands fluttering up to illustrate his words. "Not at all, Professor, I… I simply didn't expect—"

"Didn't expect me to be civil? Humane?" Severus interrupted him acidly. He immediately regretted this. He clamped his lips shut, and began to massage his left temple, which was beginning to throb. Apologies were stressful. "Forgive me. I am unused to… the situation we find ourselves to be in. Potter, may I speak frankly to you?"

"By all means, Professor, please do." Harry was paying him the utmost attention, his expression rapt. Severus avoided his eyes, and continued.

"Very well. I must admit to you that I am quite unaccustomed to… devotion such as yours. I am confused, and a bit unsettled by it. I do not know what caused me to respond in such a manner. That I did so in the first place is bad enough; that I initiated such behavior a second time is reprehensible." He paused for a moment, ventured a look at Harry. "Why do you feel this way, for me?"

The question was asked in such a frank, almost gentle tone that Harry was a bit taken aback. He cleared his throat and considered before answering.

"I really don't quite know, Professor. You're very different from, well, anyone, and I find it appealing." He offered a weak smile that Snape did not return; he merely watched him as though Harry were a book he himself was studying. Harry gulped again and continued. It was difficult to put into words what he had barely even contemplated. "You're quite dark. Not in a bad way, to me… um, I mean…. That you frighten everyone is intriguing to me, makes me want to know you, the real you. And you're so smart, there's so much I could learn from you, if you'd let me. I also find you quite attractive, in an unusual way." Harry was glad he had gotten at least that much out (the last paragraph just about ran completely together out of his mouth), but his cheeks were now fire-red with embarrassment. Snape had asked, after all.

Severus appeared to mull all of this over, head tilted to one side. After a moment of consideration, he refocused his eyes on Harry's in a way that made the boy's blood run hot.

"I think I would like to see you again, outside of the classroom," he said at last. Harry's mouth dropped open, yet again. "Not to, ah, finish what we left off, of course, but to allow you to get to know me better, as you wished. I believe your infatuation with me while dissipate rather quickly thereafter."

"Don't think so highly of yourself," Harry joked without thinking. He sucked in his lips, darting apologetic eyes at his teacher. Snape's eyebrows were raised; he appeared surprised, not angry. He scoffed under his breath, a very brief little laugh. Then he cleared his throat, schooling his features into the accustomed frown as he rose from his seat.

"Well, then, Potter. I will let you know when I wish to see you again."

"Yes, Professor," Harry murmured, his head down. He did not want to watch Snape leave; he knew the man would be aware of his gaze, and he didn't want to appear lovesick.

"Don't study too hard," Snape muttered quietly, so only Harry could hear, as he left. Harry smiled to himself, a wide grin, the color returning to his cheeks.


	10. Fallen

Precipice

Chapter 10: Fallen

Everyone around him was privy to Harry's drastic change of mood after his surprise meeting in the library with Professor Snape, a week prior. He felt light and near giddy, and nothing any Slytherin could (and did) say would bring him down.

Harry's friends were in the dark regarding his moods--he fluctuated regularly from variations of happy, sad, angry or what could only be described as pouty--but made it a practice never to pry into their reasoning. He had made it clear long ago that it was none of their business. He disliked discussing Voldemort, his parents, the Dursleys, his fame, or anything remotely linked to the aforementioned. He was a difficult person to get along with, to say the least.

Snape had not made any effort to contact him outside of their classes together as of yet, but this did not dim his spirits. He knew by now that Snape liked to take his time, to make others wait. In fact, Harry fairly reveled in the wait, in the heart-pounding anticipation of good things to come. He'd had so few things to look forward to in life; he thoroughly enjoyed the feeling.

--

Severus, however, was dreading their impending reunion. Since their last private discussion, Potter shot glowing grins at him whenever he managed to catch his eye. His excitement was painfully palpable to Snape, which made him quite uncomfortable. How stupid of him to have made such an agreement! To allow this tryst--for that is indeed what it had become--to continue. He may have had appalling physical responses to the boy, but he knew his feelings paled in comparison to Harry's... not love, but close. Close.

Though he would not voice the words in his head, he knew that the worst aspect of the situation was that his pull to Harry could not be broken. No matter what he decided to do privately, if he was around Potter, his convictions would shatter. Having experienced this several times by now, he knew himself well enough to realize that he was too selfish to give him up. Not needy, not love-starved, not lonely, but selfish. This is what he had decided was true. This is what was easiest for him to believe.

After two weeks had passed since the discussion in the library (two weeks in which Potter went from appearing helplessly ebullient to hopelessly anxious), Severus was no closer to deciding when, or whether, to meet Harry again privately. He continued to consciously put it off, to ignore the boy's smiles, his meaningful glances.

Needless to say, he was quite surprised to run into Potter loitering in the Potions Wing one Friday night after classes. He had apparently grown tired of waiting and gotten up some nerve. Admirable, but the timing couldn't be worse. Severus had undergone a very draining week, and was looking forward to a quiet and solitary Friday night.

After recovering from the slight shock, Severus schooled his sharp features into his accustomed stern glower before continuing past Harry as if he hadn't even noticed him.

--

"Er--Professor! Excuse me!" Harry called out to his teacher's retreating back. He could verily feel the older man smirking self-importantly. He stopped in his tracks, allowing Harry to catch up to him, but he did not turn around.

"Potter," he enunciated, spitting out the name. "I told you that I'd come to you. I did _not _expect you to come crawling after me."

"Which is why I came to you. How long do you expect me to wait? I won't do it forever," he dared to say.

"Precisely," Snape hissed derisively. "Take the hint, Potter."

"No, Severus, don't say that..." Harry froze in his tracks when Snape whipped around sharply, his expression fearsome.

"How dare you address me so informally, boy. Who do you think you are?" he intoned dangerously.

"I'm...I...I had hoped to be y-your--"

"My what? My boyfriend? My lover?" The words shot from his mouth like acid, as he had meant for them to do.

He so badly wanted to strike the boy, to strike those thoughts out of his own mind. He couldn't stand the possibility of being considered a homosexual--not even by another man that he'd kissed. His father used to consistently taunt him with derisive versions of that term; he'd taught him that it must be a bad thing to be. Already stressed to begin with, he was now feeling frantic, trapped. He had to make it clear to Harry that he was not gay. He grabbed the stunned boy's arm and strode down the hall with purpose, pulling Potter along behind him.

"P-Professor, where are we g-going?" Harry stuttered.

"To a pub."

"...What?" Harry could not see the older man's face, and he was trapped in his iron-like grip. He was starting to get nervous. Had he given the Professor a nervous breakdown?

"I'm going to show you what I can do to a woman. You're going to watch me, I'm going to prove it to you--"

Harry dug his feet into the ground, effectively halting Snape in his tracks. He moved to stand before his Professor, whose expression was haggard and almost desperate.

"I know you're not gay," Harry affirmed quietly. "I don't know that I am, either. I've... I've not had these feelings for anyone, male or female, before. I just... like... you. And I thought--I hoped, that, maybe... you could like me, too."

"Why should I?" was all Snape managed to get out. He sounded very tired, and rather lost. He smirked half-heartedly and rested his head against the wall with a sigh. He looked down at his left hand, which was still holding fast to Harry's arm. His eyes traveled to focus upon Harry's with intensity, causing the boy to blush, which he noticed.

"I don't like anyone, Potter." His voice was barely above a whisper. He removed his hand from the boy's arm, lifted it to smooth the ragged dark hair from the luminous eyes. He circled and drowned in them, as if they were twin whirlpools.

"Not anyone..." he murmured before leaning in to kiss him, closing his eyes against the impelling, exhausting pull of Harry's.


	11. Mindless

Precipice

Chapter 11: Mindless

Severus watched Harry as he slept in his bed, so peacefully, his disheveled black hair framing his pale, gaunt face, his long dark eyelashes pointing downward towards his finely wrought pink lips. Severus's long fingers fairly itched to touch him...

--

The two wordlessly made their way to Severus's chamber after their long kiss in the hallway. Upon unlocking, un-warding, and entering the room, Severus immediately got himself a drink (straight whiskey; he needed clarification of mind), gulped half of it down, and led Harry to one of the two easy chairs on either side of an antiquated little table near the fireplace. All of this was done in silence.

Severus then disappeared into his room for several moments, rifled around in his closet until he found a dusty rectangular box. Harry had evidently not moved an inch in his seat, something that Severus was relieved to note. He was uncomfortable with another presence—let alone an adolescent boy—in his rooms. He blew the dust off the box, which made his nose twitch momentarily, and set it down on the table. He took a seat across from Harry, and opened the box with a characteristically elegant flourish.

It was an old game of checkers.

"Care to play, Potter?" he asked softly. Harry nodded, a small smile dimpling his thin cheeks.

At first they played in silence. Severus took the game very seriously, and in record time had moved one of his black pieces to Harry's edge of the board. Harry had no idea his brilliant professor even knew of such a simple game, much less that he was so skilled in it.

"King me."

Harry glared half-jokingly at the older man, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. In all things sports or in any type of game, he was quite competitive. He plopped one of the few black pieces he had managed to win atop Severus's intruder. Severus raised his jet eyebrows delicately, as if to imply that it wasn't his fault he was winning. However, the ghost of a self-satisfied smirk plastered over his face told Harry that he didn't even have to _try _to win.

"So, tell me, Harry," Severus began, scrutinizing the board, purposefully ignoring the way his student colored at hearing him use his given name. "Why do you suppose your parents opted to give you a nickname instead of a real one?" He met Harry's eyes pointedly. "I imagine 'Harold' or 'Harrison' would have been much more dignified than plain, old 'Harry'. Don't you agree?"

Harry's glare had lost all aspects of playfulness as his eyes narrowed in on Snape's. The older man grinned, almost showing his teeth, as he moved another piece across the board.

"King me, again."

Harry looked down in surprise. He'd had no idea the piece was even remotely close to his side of the board. His blush deepened considerably; he realized that Snape had insulted him so that he would be suitably distracted to the professor's winning steak. Silently, he made the older man's piece royalty.

"That was pretty sneaky of you, I must say," he mumbled, slightly sulking. He dared a glance up at Severus, who was still smirking like a cat. Harry suppressed a chuckle, never having seen this almost playfully competitive side of the older man. He cleared his throat, signaling he wished to change the subject. "I'd never have guessed you'd know what checkers is. I've only played it a few times, myself."

"Why shouldn't I know what it is?" Snape asked, a tinge of suspicion coloring his voice. He was always searching for insults, put-downs, in others' comments.

"Well, I mean, it's more of a muggle thing, isn't it?"

Severus's eyes darted down to his hands, which were folded atop the table before the board. He waited a moment before deciding Harry may as well know more about him, since he evidently couldn't keep away from him for long.

"Well, my father was a muggle, and this very game was one of his few gifts to me as a child, so perhaps you are correct in that assumption." He pointedly did not meet Harry's eyes. He had heard the boy's shocked intake of breath, and rather dreaded where the conversation would most certainly go now. He took it in hand. "But I don't want to discuss my background with you, Potter. It isn't necessary for you to know."

"I... I suppose not." Harry's face crumpled a bit; he was hurt. "Though, it would be nice to know more about the man I--"

"Don't say it," Snape whispered quickly. His eyes suddenly focused intently on Harry's questioning ones. "Don't ever say that to me. I abhor liars."

"It's the truth," Harry returned angrily. He didn't understand Severus's reaction, and that he would call him a liar wounded him deeply. That was one thing he couldn't stand, either.

Severus sneered at him, scoffed to himself and quickly rose from the table. He strode over to the liquor cabinet and refilled his whiskey glass, downing it immediately afterwards. He refilled it again.

"What... why are you doing that?" Harry asked, slightly worried.

"So that I may become inebriated," Severus spat out slowly, as if Harry were very stupid. "Or, so you'll understand: to get pissed." He gulped down a third glass. Harry sighed in frustration.

"I know _why_ you're drinking. That is, I know to what end. I meant, why do you feel the need to get drunk _now_?"

Severus stared at him a moment, his body still, his expression damning. "Get out of here, Potter."

Harry's lip curled. He shot up from the table and marched over to Severus.

"Why?" he demanded loudly.

"Because... because you're bothering me. Because..." Severus hurled the empty glass to the stone floor, and began to pace over the broken shards. "No! I don't need to tell you why I want you out of my home. I don't need to have a reason!" He turned to Harry and charged at him, grabbing his sweater at the shoulders and shaking it, and him. "Harry, just go, before I do something stupid." He was still angry, but his tone held a note of begging in it.

Harry didn't make a move, just looked up into his eyes sadly. It was obvious he was a bit afraid (he was shaking), but he stood his ground. "No," he whispered. "I'm not afraid of you, Severus."

"...Well, you should be." Severus let go of him abruptly, grabbed the decanter of alcohol and sank down into the over-stuffed chairs before the fireplace. He began to drink straight from the bottle.

Harry shook his head before walking over to him. There was no other chair close enough to sit in, so he sank to the ground beside his professor and sat on the floor before him. He didn't know what to say, so he merely stared at his fingers as they moved restlessly in his lap. He wished he could understand Snape, could make him feel better, but he had no idea how to in either case.

Snape continued to finish his drink, relaxing as the effects of it took over him. He felt warm and lazy; he sunk further into his seat, and reveled in the comfort of that. He was very tired all of a sudden. He was not drunk enough to be in some sort of stupor, but he was in that strange, buzzy position where his all of his emotions swarmed him at once, and he knew he had to pick one to concentrate upon or they'd overwhelm him and he'd just become angry again.

He looked down at Harry. Small, innocent Harry, who knew not what he'd done, who he'd become involved with. Who knew not that his slim body was delicately sturdy, nor that his fair skin was flawless and soft. Who knew not that his touch was hot and his kiss was exhilarating. Who knew not that his mother's emerald eyes dominated his face, that they held the same love in them for him that had once lived in hers...

Suddenly, those eyes were upon him, and he knew nothing but heart-pounding desire. He couldn't think. He closed his long fingers around Harry's biceps and forcefully pulled the boy up onto his lap. Lifting him was so easy, as if he were the weight of a feather. The knowledge of his own strength charged throughout Severus's body and pooled in his groin. With no pretense of gentility, he twined his fingers into Harry's hair and crushed the boy's mouth to his. He mauled the boy's lips, his tongue, his teeth. He felt nothing but lust, and acted upon it only.

Harry's body was stiff and recalcitrant at first; he grunted his disapproval into Severus's mouth and pushed at him ineffectually. "No! Not like this," he managed to get out. Severus ceased his ministrations for a moment, pulling the boy's head back so that he may look into his eyes.

"Then, how would you like it? More... gentle?" his tone was breathy and low, caressing and addicting. His hands began to stroke down Harry's back and arms and up his chest to his face, tracing his cheeks and lips with delicate fingertips. "Is that better, my pet?"

Harry closed his eyes and his breath quickened; he savored the sweet words Severus bestowed upon him. He nodded. A small smile quirked at the older man's lips. Now he had him.

"Yes, my pet, my sweet... my Harry."

Harry lessened his resistance with every word, and visibly gave in, sighing and melting in his professor's arms. Snape smiled victoriously and slowly brought their lips together once again. 'Just like a woman,' he thought.

As he kissed Harry with an expertise the boy had most definitely never experienced before, Severus deftly unbuttoned his sweater and allowed him to shrug out of it, as if removing it had been his own choice. The white tee-shirt beneath it was thin and nearly sheer. He could see the definition of Harry's slim and firmly muscled flesh, the fragile curve of his rib and collar bones beneath it. The boy's small nipples were tight and slightly protruding, sending a throbbing sensation starting in Severus's groin. He was not intoxicated enough to think Harry a female, but he was far gone enough not to care that he was male.

He released Harry's lips, emitting a moan of protestation from the boy, and moved his mouth to his jawbone and throat. Harry's high and breathy sighs were music to his ears as his deft fingers slid down Harry's torso and up under his shirt to caress his bare skin. Flesh met flesh, and each of them reveled in the sensation of intense warmth and sensitivity. Quickly, so Harry had barely noticed the transition, Severus slipped his hands under the waistband of his pants, running his knuckles over the sensitive hip bones and the dip which led to...

"Severus!" Harry gasped. He forced his eyes to focus on the older man. "Do you... are we going to...?"

Severus knew what he meant. He had played him like a violin up until this point. This was his goal, the finale. "Do you want to, Harry?" He kissed him again softly, barely making contact. "Do you want me to make love to you?" he whispered against the boy's mouth.

"Y-yes!" Harry gasped, a lustful shudder running down his spine. "P-please, Severus. M-make love to me."

That was all Severus needed to hear. He wrapped his arms around Harry and rose from his seat, lifting the boy effortlessly as he did so. As he strode purposefully to his room, he'd had to adjust his hold on the nervous boy, flinging him almost carelessly over one shoulder. When they reached his bedroom, which was dark save for the light reaching in from the open door, he thoughtlessly tossed Harry onto his bed in his eagerness.

Harry watched his professor with wide eyes as he deftly stripped himself of his black robe. Underneath it, a black long-sleeved dress shirt and pants loosely hugged his tall, lean body. Harry gulped as Severus began to unbutton the shirt. He'd gotten as far as his sternum before he realized Harry was watching him with evident anxiety.

As he looked down at the small, frightened, inexperienced boy laying in his bed, he froze. It was as if a jug of cold water had been thrown over him. He shivered, knowing that he would have taken his student rather unceremoniously in a matter of moment, despite the fact that he had never slept with a man. He would have figured it out, in his hyper-aroused state. He let out a long sigh and raked his fingers through his hair.

Harry had sensed Snape's change of heart immediately as it occurred. He wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or disappointed, so he settled for a mixture of both. Slowly, he sat up on the bed, afraid to look up at his professor. He felt the displacement of weight shift the bed before he realized that Severus had taken a seat beside him.

"I'm so sorry, Harry," he barely whispered, then sighed again. "I'm only relieved that I didn't... go through with... It was all the alcohol. If I was in my right mind, I would never have. I tried to warn you to leave..."

Harry watched Severus's hands as he spoke. They remained eloquent and graceful even in this situation. If he had only been judging by their movements, he could have sworn he were listening to a lecture in potions class. He felt numb. Now that the possibility of losing his virginity to Snape was no more, waves of regret began to wash over him. Even now, he debated whether or not he should grab the man and kiss him again. He realized that Severus was still speaking, so he dashed his thoughts and concentrated on his words again.

"...it's very late now. I don't think you should go back to your room, what with all the after midnight wards and surveillance. It would cause a disturbance, both for you and the school. You should stay here. It would be terribly rude of me to make you sleep in one of the chairs, despite my urge to do just that, so I suppose you'll have to sleep in my bed.""

Harry brightened at this, and got up the courage to look up at Severus again. The older man's brows were furrowed.

"I'll sleep in the chair, then. Will you need anything before you go to sleep?" Here he finally turned to face Harry, who had allowed his head to droop down again in his disappointment.

"No, I'm fine, thank you," he said quietly. Severus started to rise, but stopped himself. He placed a gentle, innocent hand on Harry's shoulder.

"Are you sure you're... alright?" Concern was barely evident in his tone.

"I think so, Professor. Yes. It... it wasn't only you, you know." Harry was glad that his reddening cheeks would not be evident in the near dark of the room.

Snape blinked, and removed his hand from the boy's shoulder. "I suppose not," he agreed quietly, though he doubted this. He was too exhausted to discuss what had happened just then. He was sure the boy would press him about it in the morning, anyway.

He finally rose and wandered over to the easy chair which was a match to the one he and Harry had been in just moments ago out in his sitting room. He dashed that thought from his mind and forced himself to settle into the chair, pulling a blanket which had been folded over it's back onto himself. Despite his fatigue, he knew he would not get to sleep easily.

He listened to Harry as he shuffled to the head of the bed and got under the covers. The boy tossed and turned for ten minutes before he was dead asleep. Severus envied him. Despite the blackness which enveloped the room, Severus's equally black eyes were trained on Harry's still form, until, hours later, he drifted into sleep as well.

--

...But he wouldn't touch him. He couldn't, not after last night. The incandescent rays of the sun at dawn did not touch his dungeon rooms, but he knew it was rising above. So, too, must he.

He looked away from the sleeping child in his bed--for that is what he still was, to Severus--and moved into his sitting room. Broken glass still glittered on the flagstones, and the checkers set was still out on the table. Severus sighed and prepared to clean up, to erase all evidence of the previous night from his home, if not his mind.


End file.
